But the spoils of war remained, a sickly reminder of what had happened during the long night.
There were the sick and the lame. And the dead. There were the women, wailing women who covered themselves with soot in mourning for their loved ones. The men were buried along with their possessions: a spear, a favorite garment, a piece of jewelry, a bowl of food. In some cases dogs were killed and buried with their masters.
And the city mourned.
There was much to do. The streets were a mass of tangled bodies and drying blood. The women worked hard, scrubbing the stones of the city on their hands and knees, while the men carried the bodies of the dead barbarians to a common burial ground beyond the city.
Fires still smoldered in many of the buildings, and the Mayas persistently fought the flames, carrying jugs of water, stamping at the fires with twigs and blankets.
Neil ran across Talu once. The priest was busily scurrying about the city, supervising the removal of the dead, the extinguishing of the fires, the washing, the cleaning, everything.
“They did a good job,” Neil remarked dryly.
“We are thankful to the gods,” Talu replied in a strangely solemn voice. “We could have been destroyed.”
Neil smiled. “We’re still here,” he said.
“The gods must be thanked,” Talu said, and then he was rushing away again, like a nervous bird with white feathers.
Neil continued walking through the city, watching the Mayas hard at work. He found Erik seated on a low stone step.
The Norseman held one of the barbarian rattles in his big hands, turning it over slowly.
“Loafing?” Neil asked, conscious of the hurried activity around them.
Erik grinned. “Yes,” he admitted, “just loafing.”
“You deserve a rest,” Neil said.
Erik turned the rattle over in his hands. “A curious thing,” he said.
“They sure raised hob with those last night.”
“Yes. A very effective trick. Yes.”
“Psychology,” Neil murmured, basking in the sun, feeling the warmth seep into his tired bones.
“Hm-m-m?” Erik asked, his eyes intent on the rattle.
“Psychol…” Neil hesitated and shook his head, remembering that this was a concept unknown to the Norseman. “Never mind,” he added.
Erik shook the rattle, as if to test its powers.
“You worked greater magic than theirs,” he said softly. He paused and turned his piercing blue eyes on Neil. “You can fly, my friend.”
“Not I,” Neil said. “My vessel does the flying. It only carries me.”
“Powerful magic,” Erik whispered.
Neil wondered if he should tell Erik about time travel and the twentieth century and America, and… No. Erik wouldn’t understand. It was better to leave such things unsaid.
“In my land,” he explained weakly, “we have many such vessels. They are not strange.”
Erik’s eyes moved to the sky. “To fly,” he said softly. “To be able to fly.”
“Your people will fly some day too,” Neil promised.
Erik’s eyes sparkled. “Will they, Neil?”
“They will fly,” Neil said. “I promise.”
Erik’s hands tightened on the rattle, and it split into a hundred brittle pieces. It was, Neil saw, a dried-up squash, hollow, and filled with what appeared to be tiny pebbles. These pebbles clattered to the stone now, spilling from the hollow shell of the rattle.
Erik reached down and held one between his thumb and forefinger.
Neil looked at it closely. It may have been yellow in color once, as parts of it still seemed to be, but it was now more a deep, brownish hue.
“Looks like a corn kernel,” Neil exclaimed.
Erik turned the morsel over in his fingers. “Maize,” he said simply. “This is maize.”
Neil realized that corn was probably still called maize in Erik’s time and land. He shrugged and agreed.
“They probably filled the inside with these dried maize kernels to produce the noise.”
Erik seemed to be thinking. Suddenly, he said, “The Mayas have no bread.” He seemed to remember Neil, turned to him, and added, “Had you noticed, Neil? They have no bread.”
“Yes, I
“And I’ll bet they have no maize, either.” Quickly, he stooped and gathered the kernels from the ground into the palm of his hand.
“We must find more of these rattles, Neil. They will help our friends a great deal. Come.”
Neil followed Erik, lazily getting to his feet.
They found fourteen rattles and then they searched for Talu. Erik stopped the priest and showed him the kernels in his hand.
“What are they?” Talu asked.
“Maize,” Erik replied.
“And what is that?”
“You will plant it,” Erik said.
“But why? What does it grow?”
“You plant it, and when its yield is collected at harvest time, I will show you how to use it.”
Talu was apparently very busy. He agreed hurriedly. “Yes, yes. All right.” His arm darted out and stopped a running Maya. “Get some men,” he ordered, “and follow our friend to the fields. He will show you how to plant these seeds.”
He smiled at Neil. “I am sorry,” he said, “but I must go. There is much to do.”
He was off again, fluttering through the streets in great haste. Erik took his Maya workers and headed for the fields. Neil, time on his hands, strolled through the city again.